Chapter 294 Your Son Is Great, He Is Mine Now

The smell of burning and thin smoke filled the hall, replacing the smell of holy mechanical incense and maintenance oil, making it seem almost like the less glorious but still bright times of the Legion.

The Hall of Reflection was silent.

The Machine Spirits stopped whispering in unison.

Talos listened to the communications from various locations on the ship in his helmet, and for the first time since the Night Lords last gathered at Tessaguassa, he felt that things were back on track. The ship, the Cursed Echo, was returning to their control in an orderly, cold and efficient manner.

Perhaps this time we can give the Captain a decent funeral, a hero's funeral pyre, and burn whatever is left to ashes, so that no one will continue to resurrect legendary heroes, as if this will restore the Legion's former power.

——But——It’s a pity, Malcharion, his commander, the hero of the Legion——Although Talos felt that if he had known the news before today, he would not sigh for his death, but would insist on giving his captain a neat rest with his own hands, but now is different from the past, maybe——after all——

“Ave dominus nox!!!!!!!”

Abruptly.

A loud, rumbling, resonant mechanical voice like a hundred cannons or a thousand organs repeated this eulogy.

Talos Valcoran, the soul hunter, prophet, or former pharmacist of the 10th Company of the 8th Legion, raised his head in disbelief, but the bat-winged skull mask covered his face at the moment, and no one knew his expression at the moment.

"Ave dominus nox!...Oh my God, why can't I move - please forgive my rudeness, my lord, I greet you."

"Hello, war philosopher. Well, it seems that the key point is indeed here." Ramizann nodded, "And who does this is actually completely debatable. Although the actual impact is very different, it has the same result."

(*... Hum. But before you try it, you can't be sure whether Malcharion will wake up as you guessed. You are still betting on his life, you hypocritical hypocrite.)

"Hypocrisy and hypocrisy have the same meaning. It's best not to use them together. It will show that your cultural scores are not enough."

(*I don't need any cultural subjects! I don't need anyone to grade me!)

"Oh, okay, then you will have it, you will have it."

The mechanical bishop was still maintaining his shocked and pleading posture, but under his flashing lenses, he had begun to mutter in binary language in disbelief about the situation in front of him. Obviously, the mechanical priest had been greatly shocked by this awakening ceremony that was both rude and failed, but completely unreasonable and perfectly successful to him... subverting some of his three views and common sense.

"Besides, this is not the first time. You have seen many times that I use everything you can see to plan actions and achieve goals. My life wisdom warns me: Don't say that the success rate is 100% before things succeed. Anyway, let's drink a cup of Reka coffee for our success... I seriously doubt that there is no Reka coffee in this place, which is bad news."

(*... Hum!!! You make all the things that could have been ended simply so complicated, and mess up everyone's brains. What's the benefit?)

"What's the benefit?" Ramizane couldn't help laughing. In the eyes of Talos and the other members of the First Claw who had just walked in to prepare for the report and take a closer look at the real Primarch, the Midnight Ghost showed his shark-like sharp teeth and greeted his offspring with an emotionless smile to meet again after ten thousand years.

"That's the benefit." The body of the 8th Legion's Primarch walked forward and stroked the exquisite colored reliefs depicting the achievements on the Dreadnought. As a Hammer, Ramizane could understand that Dietrian was unwilling to give up such a limited edition chess piece that he had worked so hard to hand-paint... the mood of the sarcophagus. At the same time, he untied the restraints on the Dreadnought's limbs, "Aren't you happy? You are obviously very happy - what is this smell? Strange... fishy smell of rain?"

(* (very impatient tone) You don't have to worry about such trivial matters!... I admit that you changed some insignificant details, but you can't change the final result. This is how I see it, and they will happen and end this way.)

The inside of the Dreadnought made some clicking sounds similar to gears or belts sliding. Ramizane felt that this might be the other party clearing his throat nervously.

"My Lord. If I knew that you would pick me up in the afterlife, I should have found an opportunity to make myself die more heroically and not be recycled a little bit."

The pale, tall and withered human figure nodded to the war giant in front of him, and his interest was visibly improved.

(*…I insist that your taste for playing house is not much worse than mine.)

"You have made progress, a lot of progress. You even began to realize that playing house is a fun activity. That's good."

(*You…you are really inexplicably optimistic! Just as inexplicably as your scene beautification!)

The War Philosopher's chassis motor roared, and although the Dreadnought had no joints to bend, the Terran veteran still insisted on saluting, and also skillfully ignored the strange words that his Highness had just said.

"Oh, then you have come to the right world. Do you know where this is?"

"My data system has not been connected to the database update yet. I don't know, my master."

"This is Tessaguarsa, Malcharion."

The Dauntless's loud voice was obviously silent for the first time since he woke up - it could even be said that he flinched. "It seems that I may have really come to the afterlife. Nostramo is destroyed, so we can only meet here? My lord, I must say that everything is much better than I thought so far."

Talos shifted his weight to the other foot, and the subtle sound of ceramic steel friction finally made Malcharion, who had been focusing on the lost and recovered Primarch, finally notice him.

"Talos!" he shouted, "My God, little Talos, you are here too! And Shar, did you die with them? How did you die?"

Lami Zahn's face, which had been trying to keep tight, finally relaxed.

"Okay, Malcharion," he said, "We are not dead. You are too."

The Dauntless's roar stopped, and the sensors on his sarcophagus kept flashing.

"It was Dietrian who saved you and just tried to wake you up."

"But - you - I - once - saw it with my own eyes -"

"Yes, the head of the Night Ghost of Nostramo was cut off by the daughter of Callidus ten thousand years ago." The Night King nodded calmly, "and it was in the castle where tens of thousands of my descendants are, witnessed by the officers composed of you."

Everyone in the hall trembled at the soul level for this terrible statement and the meaning behind it. Some Night Lords, such as Talos and Makutian, tightened their weapons with shame and anger, while others tightened their muscles more vigilantly, ready to attack at any time, or more likely, escape.

"But, but, then you -"

"So now in front of you is."

(*angry hissing)

"Your father, Konrad Curze."

(*Shameful!!! You thief who stole other people's descendants!!! I will skin you alive!!!!!!)